


i think i'll skip this one this year

by bewareoftrips



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, M/M, Riverparents, parentdale, riverdaleevents, takes place during 2x09, theme eight: blitzen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/pseuds/bewareoftrips
Summary: Penelope makes a friend. FP gets a Christmas tree. And Alice gets her daughter back.Christmas in parentdale in three parts.
Relationships: Alice Cooper/Hal Cooper, FP Jones II/Gladys Jones, Fred Andrews/FP Jones II, Penelope Blossom/Vic the Foreman
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16
Collections: Home for the HoliDale





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penelopeblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopeblossom/gifts), [bisexualfpjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/gifts), [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts).



> chapter 1 for Alexa  
> chapter 2 for Julia and Briana  
> chapter 3 for me
> 
> here's to hoping I finish the rest of this before the new year

“No, not that one, Vic.” The foreman does a double take at Fred’s voice. “I had that one set aside for someone.”

“This branch?” Vic looks down at the pathetic tree he was about to toss in the mulch pile. “No one would pay for this. Hell, you probably couldn’t pay a person to take this off your hands.” He chuckles, but Fred takes the barely-three-footer from him gently and smiles at it. 

“It has character.” He eyes the tree in his hand. “And it doesn’t matter because it’s on the house. They’ll be happy with it.”

Vic knows Fred can hardly afford to give away trees at the best of times, but the man’s always been a giver and there’s no point lecturing him now. Not on Christmas Eve and not when he’s already had a rough few months. 

“It’s tiny, half dead.” Vic gestures at the stock they still have left. “We won’t be selling many more on Christmas Eve. Why not give away one of the nicer ones?”

Fred’s already halfway to his pick up. “I like this one. Small. They’ll like it.”

“Charlie Brown couldn’t fix that tree up, Fred!”

Fred shakes his head as he gets into the cab of the truck, tree tucked safely in the back. “Linus fixed the tree up, Vic. Charlie Brown just picked it out.” He looks down the empty road leading to the diner. “Why don’t you just pack up and head on home. You’re right. No one’s looking to buy a tree this late on Christmas Eve anyway.” He closes the door. “Merry Christmas, Vic.”

“Merry Christmas, Fred.”

The truck takes off towards the railroad tracks and Vic shakes off where his boss is probably heading. Some bleeding hearts never learn and some broken ones never quite heal.

With nowhere to be, Vic takes his time closing up. Their stock had mostly sold through, what with most Riverdale residents preferring to buy their trees from the most reliable source in town rather than drive out to one of the lots past Greendale or - heaven forbid - buy a plastic one from Mal-Mart. 

A red Ford pulls up beside him just as he places the metal cash box in the trunk of his car for safe keeping. Someone who didn’t feel like cooking a Christmas Eve meal, he assumes, and was picking up some burgers. He may as well do the same. Heels click on the asphalt of the parking lot and a voice speaks behind him. 

“Excuse me, sir?” a breathless voice asks. “I’m looking for Fred Andrews.”

Vic’s jaw drops as he takes in the woman in front of him. He’s done enough business with the Blossoms over the years to know the family by name, but even then he hardly recognizes the woman in front of him. Her hair’s free of its usual tight bun and she has a red dress on under a dark, unbuttoned coat, neither of which looked entirely weather appropriate. Her face drops when she recognizes him, but she picks it right back up and offers him a red lipped smile.

“Hello, Vic.” The town could say what they wanted about the Blossoms, but they were business people through and through and had always taken care to know the people they hired by name. “How do you do?”

“Fine, Mrs. Blossom.” He made sure to keep his gaze directed at her face, even though her open coat - and the ruby red poinsettia brooch on her lapel - made it a difficult feat. “Merry Christmas.”

“And to you and yours as well.” Her eyes dart around the lot. “Is Fred Andrews here? It seems my daughter purchased a tree on credit and I came here to - to speak of a payment plan.”

Vic cringes. Partially at the less than pleasant memory of dealing with Cheryl Blossom the day before and partially at the thought of someone needing to set up a payment plan for a Christmas tree that would be long dead before they be able to pay it off. Rumors had gone around town about the Blossom fortune being tied up by the authorities in the wake of Clifford Blossom’s suicide and the general consensus seemed to be good riddance. 

Vic disagreed and he knew Fred did too. Regardless of what Cliff had done, the surviving members of the Blossom family didn’t deserve to suffer as well.

“Fred left to deliver a tree,” Vic says, pulling his work gloves off. He notices Mrs. Blossom’s gloves are silk and seem more decorative than practical. “Didn’t sound like he’d be coming back. And I’m just closing up for the day.”

She sighs heavily. “I need to -”

“Mrs. Blossom, please.” He pulls his regular wool gloves. “Don’t worry about the tree. It’s on the house.”

She clicks her teeth. “The Blossoms are not a charity case.”

He considers placing a hand on her shoulder, but her body language is defensive, her arms holding over her chest. “It’s not charity, it’s a gift.” He gulps. “You’ve had a rough year.”

Mrs. Blossom’s raises her chin. Something soft passes in her eyes. “I could never,” escapes her in a small voice. “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with Mr. Andrews.”

Vic chuckles. “In trouble with Fred? No such thing. He’d insist, Mrs. Blossom. I in-”

“Penelope,” she says suddenly, her eyes now wide and attentive. “Please, no more formalities. Call me Penelope.”

“Penelope,” he says with a smile, “please don’t worry about the tree. Just enjoy Christmas with your daughter.” 

The harsh laugh escapers her so suddenly that he jumps. “My daughter has no interest in spending Christmas with me. When I told her we do not exactly have the funds for a full celebration this year she, well,” she gestures to the nearly empty lot, “she commandeered a Christmas tree and racked up quite the bill at Spacys. Her way of punishing me. And it worked I suppose.” She regards him carefully. “You have children, Vic.” It’s not a question. 

“A girl and a boy.” He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a picture of his kids from two months ago on Halloween, both dressed as pirates. Penelope takes the photo from him and smiles down sweetly at it.

“Precious age,” she says, although he never said their ages. She doesn’t hand the picture back right away. “You will be wanting to get home to them of course. Christmas Eve is always full of excitement for children, isn’t it?.”

“They live down in Seaside with their mother and grandparents now.” He takes the photo from Penelope as her mouth falls open. “I’ll have them for a few days before school starts back up though.”

There’s a long pause between them which Penelope finally breaks with, “It must get lonely.” He nods. “My whole life I have always felt I was a bit lonely, but given the current circumstances -” Her voice trails off and her eyes follow a family walking out of Pops. 

“Penelope?”

Her neck snaps back towards him. “No one should spend Christmas alone, Vic. Neither of us.” Her head tilts. “Do you plans for the evening? Dinner with a friend? Other family to see?”

He shakes his head. “Probably grab a burger to go and watch It’s a Wonderful Life on TV.”

Mrs. Blossom - Penelope - smirks but it fades quickly. “I have always been a Miracle on 34th Street girl myself.” She waves a finger. “The original of course. But all the same, a movie and a hamburger is no way for anyone to spend their Christmas Eve.”

“It’s fine.” Vic prepares to shove off the look he knows she’s about to give him. The one of pity and sadness. The one that tells him she knows he’s no more than some sad divorcee. “Not a big deal. The kids will give me a call at the crack of dawn to tell me what Santa brought them.”

But the look doesn’t come. Instead Penelope’s hand, clad in those impractical silk gloves, grasps his forearm. Her touch is firm yet somehow soft. Loving almost. He meets her eyes and she pleads with him.

“I came here tonight to see Fred but I would be lying if I said I had altruistic intentions.” She regards him carefully. “I was going to see if Fred perhaps - well he is a single man and I wanted to see if he wanted the company of another lonely soul tonight. To thank him for the tree.” Her smile is curt and pleading. “Perhaps I can find another way to pay you back for the kindness you’ve shown me tonight, Vic.” She squeezes his arm. “Or for the tree at the very least.”

Vic gulps. “Mrs. Blossom -”

“Penelope,” she corrects.

“Penelope, I - I don’t think you’re thinking clearly.”

Her grip loosens. “I have a bottle of gin at home that I have been saving for the holidays and I can think of no better person to share it with.” She lets go of him. “I have also been honing my culinary skills and have an empty house, no one to cook for.” Her mouth gaps for a second and she catches her breath. “I understand if you do not follow but - but I would like you to stop by my home tonight, Vic. It is the very least I can offer you. My - my company.”

Without another word she walks back to her red Ford. She gives him a look that’s half seductive, half pleading before flipping her hair over her shoulder and closing the door behind her. 

Her touch practically burns on his arm. He waits until her car clears the lot before jumping into his own. 

Penelope was right. No one should spend Christmas alone. 


	2. Chapter 2

A tool clangs in the background as Gladys answers. Before she even says hello there’s a muffled noise and FP knows she’s balancing the phone on her shoulder so she can continue whatever task she’s on. From the metal on metal noise, he figures she’s in a garage. 

She could never stand to do one thing at a time. Images flood his mind of a younger Gladys, rocking Jughead in his stroller with her foot as she folded laundry or leaning over a dog eared paperback as she cooked dinner. 

“FP Jones,” she finally says, her voice somewhere between amusement and sarcasm, “as I live and breathe.”

It’s still a friendlier greeting than what he had expected. He drums his fingers against the linoleum counter and blurts out, “You wanna come home for Christmas?”

It’s a long pause. Another clang in the background. Gladys’ breath slows and he thinks she might actually be holding the phone with her hand for once. 

“I am home, FP.” Her voice isn’t unkind, but it’s lost a little of it’s natural tease. He knows she picks her next words carefully. “But I may not say no if you boys want to hike your asses to Ohio for a few days.” 

He drops the phone when there’s a bang on the door - someone knocking on the aluminum in just the wrong place - and manages to grab it by the cord before it hits the ground. 

“I - well, we -” he stutters into it, but Gladys cuts him off.

“Better get that,” she drawls, her voice with a little more edge than usual. “Might be your parole officer.” She’s probably right too because half the Serpents wouldn’t bother knocking in the first place. 

“I, uhh -” He gulps loudly, knowing it can probably be heard across the phone and through the thin door. “Just hold on a second, okay?”

Another knock, not quite as aggressive as the first, comes as FP struggles to stretch the cord to the door. He runs a hand through his hair and smooths his flannel shirt before opening it with a grimace, hoping his parole officer’s in a better mood than last time. 

Only it’s not his parole officer. 

“Ta da!” Fred Andrews cries out, thrusting a large branch towards the screen door. There’s a Santa hat perched sideways on his head and a smile on his face so bright FP can’t believe the two of them exist in the same universe, much less the same trailer. “Merry Christmas!” 

FP’s eyes dart either way on the small porch, half expecting to see Archie or Jughead tailing behind Fred, snake to his back pushing him to visit, but there’s no one. Just Fred Andrews smiling his heart out like he’s a 16-years-old who just landed a date for the roller rink on Saturday night, not a man in his mid-40s with a bullet wound still fresh on his chest. 

“Merry Christmas!” Fred repeats when FP still doesn’t open up. He pops the flimsy handle on the screen door - it wasn’t locked, was never locked, even with the threat of this so-called serial killer around - and gestures Fred in. “Jughead said a small one.”

Fred holds out the branch to FP who just eyes it slowly before taking them from Fred. 

“This is a huge branch, Freddy,” is all that comes out. Fred snickers. 

“It’s a tree!” he insists, shrugging his jacket off and holding up the tree stand he’s brought in as well. “You’re lucky too.That one comes with free installation.”

There’s a small laugh that makes him jump and it takes a few seconds to realize the phone is still clutched in his hand, estranged wife still on the line.

“Shit. Gladys?” he holds the receiver back to his ear but she’s already shushing him. “Sorry, it’s just -”

“Have fun with Freddy,” she coos, her voice soft again. “Juggie told me you too were back on good terms.”

“That’s a way to put it,” he says quietly, eyeing the other man in the room. The tininess of the trailer never really sunk in until there was someone else in there with you. “About Christmas -”

“Just show up on Christmas morning or don’t, okay?” Her voice is kind. “And I won’t hold it against you if it’s latter. Just remember to tell Santa your daughter is really into vinyl right now.”

“Jellybean. Yeah. And what’re you into right now?” But the dial tone is already buzzing in his ear. “Tell Jellybean I miss her,” he says to no one. Fred shoots him a look like he knows there’s no one on the line anymore but he doesn’t call him out. “Love you guys.” 

He makes the awkward shuffle to the kitchen to put the corded phone back on it’s cradle. Maybe he should have sprung for a cordless one back in 1998 when they seemed to be so popular. When he gets back to the living room, Fred is waiting for him on the floor, hands outstretched. FP looks around for a minute before he realizes he’s still holding the branch.

“You -” he shakes his head a few times. “Freddy, I - we don’t have room in here for a tree.” 

“Can’t have lights up if you don’t have a tree.” Fred nods to the Christmas lights hanging around the ceiling and FP doesn’t have the nerve to tell him he never took them down from two Christmas ago. 

He eyes the branch in his hand. “There’s hardly room for whatever this is. You didn’t have to -”

“Whatever that is!” Fred’s mock annoyance makes him smile in spite of himself. “That is the tree, Jones. Your Christmas tree, picked with care and hand delivered after hours and that’s the response I get.” 

FP looks at it. “You’re kidding, right?”

Fred crawls the few inches towards him and yanks the tree from his hands. The stand was already set and unscrewed on the floor. He delicately started tightening the bolts so it stood upright. FP is sure if he goes too fast he’ll snap the little thing right in half.

Fred grumbles under his breath the whole time, but it’s all for naught because FP knows him well enough to know he’s teasing. To know he’s probably been planning this trip for weeks.

“Hey, Freddie,” FP asks as Fred is checking out the balance. Even with the screws tightened all the way, the tree is still lopsided, the trunk just too thin. Fred holds it straight. “I thought you got quality trees at the lot.”

Fred beams, still not looking at him. “Some of the best in the state. You know that.”

“Yeah?” FP rubs the fresh stubble on his face. “Then why’d you bring me something even Charlie Brown couldn’t fix up?”

He gets up slowly, finally letting go of the tree and letting it tilt again, the stance it’ll probably stay in until it’s tossed out sometimes around Valentine’s Day. For a split second, FP wonders if he took it too far. Fred’s face is stony as he takes the three steps towards him, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He shakes his head. 

“I’m ashamed of you.” FP’s mouth falls open, but Fred doesn’t let him talk. “I have made you watch A Charlie Brown Christmas nearly every year since the fourth grade and you’re going to tell me you can’t remember that Linus is the one who fixes up the tree?”

They stare down each other for a few seconds, but Fred breaks first, lips curling into a grin. “Got you.”

FP chuckles and hits Fred’s arm lightly. He wonders if the move was wrong, either too intimate or rough considering his fragile state, but FP swears he leans into him, same way the tree leans for dear life against the stand.

A joke. If anyone was a leaning tree in need of saving here it was him, not Fred.

FP stares at the branch. “It’s a sad little thing, but it kind of pulls the room together, doesn’t it?” 

“The only thing pulling this room together,” Fred juts his chin to the wall, “is the Big Mouth Bobby Bass over there.” He whistles. “Miracle Gladys never took a hammer to it.” There’s a long pause. “You should go see her for Christmas.”

FP shrugs. “Maybe.”

It’s Fred’s turn to clap him on the arm. His hand doesn’t come off though. It lingers until he meets Fred’s eyes. 

“Did Jughead ask you to come over here?” he blurts out. Fred doesn’t let go. Just squeezes his arm a little tighter.

“Nope.”

“Archie?” 

“Nope.”

“Then why?”

“It’s Christmas, FP.” He’s so earnest that FP sees a flash of the boy Fred was thirty years ago. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, before the world took its toll on either of them. FP’s hand is on his before he knows what’s happening. “No one should spend Christmas alone.” 

Their hands clasp together on FP’s arm for ten seconds or ten minutes, he can’t be sure. When they break, Fred looks around. 

“Got a blue blanket by any chance?” he asks. “Maybe a single red ball? Gotta decorate this thing after all.”

FP laughs like he hasn’t in years. Maybe he’ll take one more shot at getting Gladys and Jellybean to come to Riverdale for Christmas. Or maybe he and Jughead will head over there.

Either way, he’s going to make sure Fred Andrews isn’t alone for Christmas either.


End file.
